The Way Things Are
by Merrybeans
Summary: Nigel and his brother have an interesting relationship and an intriguing childhood. What made Preston the way he is now?


**A/N: **This is done for my friend's new LJ writing community, "20yearsinalife". The idea is to take a minor character and show the first twenty years of their life at set stages (the idea being that in that time you become the person you're going to be in life) with each stage becoming progressively longer. There are theme sets but I used my own prompts for this.

I found this quite hard to write because I'm still unused to the fandom and the structure is so unusual to me. Please bear with me (plus it's unbeta'd). Also, I'm unsure what age Nigel and Preston were when their parents died. I made it up; sorry if it has been mentioned in the series. I'd appreciate reviews.

Don't worry, I don't only write one-shots! I will be producing a multi-chapter proper Relic Hunter story soon!

**Disclaimer:** I don't know who does own Nigel, Sydney and the rest of the Scooby Gang, but it's definitely not me.

**The Way Things Are**

0 – _the audience is still_

It was a special day when Mrs. Bailey finally went into labour and gave birth to the long-awaited child. Perfectly, he was a boy; a true, English heir. After these years of marriage, constrained by hopes and held together by unspoken fears, she had finally done her duty.

Nobody was more pleased than Mr. Bailey himself. These were the modern times- he did not care about the sex of his child, just that he _had_ a child! The added bonus that both son and mother were in healthy conditions made him giddy in a way a respectable English gentleman probably should never admit to.

And so, with much joy and the good kind of heartache, Preston Bailey came into the world, at long long last. The audience waited, breath baited, until that first disgruntled wail of the neonate rang out – and then they all sighed in relief, smiled, and remarked on the lungs on the little chap.

--

5 – _backseat lover_

In five years, Preston Bailey had learnt a lot. One of the key things he had learnt was that it was important to _learn_ as much as you could. Knowledge, he knew, was the real power.

It was a shame then, that he did not hold much patience with books. He had picked up on the fact that people tended to record their knowledge in these pages, with these little black words. Unfortunately, with all the enthusiasm his five years could muster in his little limbs, he'd rather climb trees and make mud pies than study little lines and dots.

Still, he did like it when Dad read out loud at night. That didn't take as much effort then. Preston had found he preferred being _told_ knowledge, than having to tell himself.

Preston was learning a lot of other things beside which trees generally didn't like little boys, and which type of mud simply wouldn't make pies, including how to make pretty noises out of black and white keys. The black and white lines _here_ he didn't mind so much: something interesting came out of them. It made him happy, and it made his Mother happy.

Although he didn't mind learning how to make scrummy cakes in the kitchen with Mum and Cook, he had tried to _avoid_ learning how to clean up afterwards. He always felt it was his duty as a son to make a mess now and then- little things like leaving his clothes where they fell, he believed, went a long way.

Preston had also learnt how to glare.

There was one main cause for this, one main subject to blame: his younger brother, Nigel Bailey.

Nigel had been born when Preston was three. In fact, for a while, they had thought the brothers would share their birthday, by some twist of fate. This had set Preston's hackles up immediately. Even though his third was only just approaching, he'd already learnt that birthdays were something to be treasured: birthdays were the _best_ _days_, and they were something one simply shouldn't have to share with a younger brother, like having to share your warm, soft bed with something horrid and slimy. A snake would do, or a frog.

It turned out- to Preston's satisfaction- that someone along the line had been wrong, and Nigel wasn't due for another two weeks. He came early- just to be an irritation Preston thought, remembering the day at the zoo that had been spoilt by Nigel's interruption.

Where Preston's birth had been anticipated eagerly, Nigel's was longed for with a joy that edged on annoyance. Two children! Two _sons!_

Preston learnt then what it was to be ignored, and what it was to feel jealous, and how to recognise that swollen head that belonged to anger. Suddenly, he had to take the backseat. Abruptly, he was pushed to the sidelines. He was old enough, now, they said, to take care of himself. His brother needed their help.

Nigel was two years old now and was still weak and helpless as far as Preston was concerned. At least, his parents seemed to think so the way they still fussed over him. The way they still ignored Preston.

So Preston made sure they knew he was still around. He soon learnt that the best way to get their attention was to attack the thing that was taking it away from him in the first place: little Nigel.

--

10 – _and here in the eye of the storm, everything was unequal_

By the time he was ten years old, Preston had begun to take more of an interest in books and reading. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all, he thought. Indeed, it was expected of him in school and he was determined to do well in his lessons.

He took to reading instead of fighting twiggy arms and distasteful earth, and started to discover why so many people were so fond of the hobby. Yes, he found he liked the disillusionment reading gave him very much, thank you.

School was something young Preston enjoyed greatly. Here he found he excelled. Learning was a joy and since he was so well behaved and primly turned out, the teachers found _teaching_ him a joy. They gave him their attention and their gold stars; in this domain, he knew only praise and positive words and red ticks.

Cooking, too, became something of a passion. It had to be interesting things, of course, like cakes and biscuits and puddings. What he liked most of all here was the experimentation. He could shut the doors and under the watchful eyes of the surreptitious Cook, he could do what he liked. Do what he liked – so long as he cleaned up. Regrettably, that had been the one condition that came with his freedom in the kitchen.

It didn't stop there- oh no, Preston was a very accomplished little young man. He found that his early love of pleasing his mother with the noises he could make from the black and white lines on the piano had remained constant, and grown. Now he ran his fingers over the keys in practiced patterns, making _prettier_ noises, and pleasing his mother further.

That was not the only thing to have grown over the years. More than any of his other passions, his discord with his brother had swollen to gigantic proportions, like an over-blown balloon, waiting for the slightest sharpness to pop.

In truth, they were both to blame; both were as irritable as the other. They behaved more like enemies than brothers. In fact, the games they enjoyed playing were extreme version of normal sibling fun: cops and robbers, cowboys and indians – anything where they could attack each other. Of course, being the bigger and older, Preston always won.

It upset his parents, Preston was well aware of that, but he found that did not prevent him from antagonising little Nigel as much as was possible. His brother, he felt, deserved it all and if their parents could not see that then it was certainly not _Preston's_ fault.

Times of brotherly affection were, by all conclusions, rare in the Bailey household. Mr and Mrs Bailey were forced to give their treasured sons separate rooms, separate toys- in fact, they could not be trusted to share anything at all. In all aspects except this, they were genteel little Englishmen.

Still, there were occasions when Preston and Nigel got on admirably. On these times, Preston took great delight in being the _elder_ brother- the _big_ brother- until Nigel, in all his lamb-fleeced innocence, said something to remind him that he was not the _treasured_ brother. This would then set situations back to normal in the Bailey household, where Preston acted innocently, Nigel was victimised, Father scolded both sons, Mother dried the tears of her men, and Cook stayed in the kitchen shaking her head sadly and baking an extra round of cakes.

Back to normal in the Bailey household. Beneath the properly mannered façade, the strictest decorum, the politest words – everything was unequal. But of course, it was kept secret.

--

15 - _frozen, frozen; nothing changes._

Adolescence would have been good to Preston Bailey. He would have rebelled secretly and quietly, so that his parents barely knew he was rebelling, and although he would have thought he was a _cool_ teenager, he would have barely lost his innocence. Still, he would have been happy- when his hormones let him.

_But it didn't happen that way. Unexpected events changed everything._

He grew, in the ways all teenagers do, and by the time he was fifteen, he was rid of the worst of his spots and gathered up enough courage to ask his first crush out. Emma was a beautiful girl and he learnt a great deal with her. His first kiss was with her, at his fifteenth birthday party. He didn't think on it much when he was older, but it had meant everything to him at the time.

Preston had been in and out with friends- but _in_ more than _out_. "Social butterfly" did not exactly fit fifteen year old Preston perfectly, but he was no recluse, especially when he discovered the key to being popular at this age was to be socially active- and fashionable. With the healthy pocket money he was awarded, Preston could easily achieve both these fundamentals, and his easy charm, skill with school work, and good looks helped him on his way.

But he learnt social standing wasn't everything _– learnt the hard way that family was important too._

Preston's love of cooking and baking delicious treats, however strong it had been as a child, abated. Situations were different now. He could not waste his time with _cooking_, especially not when he was someone of _his_ breeding. As Preston abandoned the kitchen, Nigel welcomed it. The Cook was a warm, steady presence, always ready with treats that Preston ignored.

In contrast, Preston's love of music and art and literature grew further. Though he tried his best to keep it reasonably quiet from his fashionable peers at his private school, the arts were something he could draw calm and strength from. He could get lost in a concerto, dream in arpeggios, when every thing else offered him only nightmares. By the time he was fifteen, Preston had won awards for his piano playing. He _was_ pleased with it, but he never knew what his Mum really thought of his performances now; his Mum, who had encouraged his early interest in the black and white keys.

Preston also, by this age, prided himself on knowing all of the paintings in the National Gallery. He liked to go there when he was feeling sad, and sometimes he took his younger brother along, deserting him to be with Turner and Da Vinci and the other masters. Preston had no idea that Nigel, at thirteen, knew where every painting _hung_, knew most of the British and National Museums like the back of his hand, and was friends with countless museum staff (often largely thanks to Preston's abandonment).

Preston abandoned his brother a lot. Sometimes it was intentionally done but on other occasions it was natural – or that Preston just needed some time to himself. That happened more and more these days. It was easier, Preston found, to keep in his own life, with his watercolours, his melodies and his novels, than to interfere with Nigel any more. He couldn't be bothered with dealing with the little wimp. He had far too many more important things to do than to regularly punish Nigel for his foolishness.

After all, he had to keep his social standing now- his _image_. He needed to keep the friends, the fashion, the impressive school marks. He was _in_, he was _cool_. He was part of the crowd, and that was something Nigel couldn't take away from him.

Nigel took too much away from him, in Preston's view. The boy always had, even before he was born. Preston would never have admitted to his jealousy; Nigel could do so much better than him with so much less energy.

Those rare occasions of brotherly affection became practically non-existent. The wedge that should have healed their rift only drove them further apart, much to everyone's surprise.

_It had been so unexpected…_

_It was an event that changed everything. It was the hard way to learn._

Preston had only just turned twelve. He was nearly a teenager, and that meant he was a little bit closer to being a grown man. Nigel was still a child. _So unexpected…_

Their parents had died, leaving them alone in the world. Preston was not even into his teens when he was abruptly crowned the man of the house, the king of the Bailey castle.

He never saw how much it affected his little brother until it was too late. As ever, he stayed indifferent to silly little Podge's feelings, frozen in his own grief.

--

20- _face the clock_

Things change. Situations, people, feelings. Brothers.

But sometimes, they don't change. Preston never grew close to his brother – not _close_. Oh, he came to know him- know what he was interested in, his mannerisms, the women he lusted after. Preston kept a careful eye on his little brother to make sure he wasn't overreaching _his_ achievements; even as head of the family, the heir and first son, he could not rid himself of that fear that Nigel would out-do him, _steal_ his achievements from under his nose.

Still, Preston never truly knew his brother. He never made the effort – he didn't _want_ to. It was when he was shopping for Nigel's seventeenth that he realised he did not even know what his brother's favourite colour was, or his favourite author- and reading was a passion they both shared!

Instead Preston revelled in his duties, in his days at university. Nigel was at boarding school; it was even less worry for Preston- except that nervousness when the boy's record card was due at the end of each term: how well had he done _this_ time? Enjoying his own life as he slowly climbed out of that well of grief, Preston never thought that Nigel might not _like_ boarding school.

University, you see, was a great way to get over grief, even six year old mourning. There was the drink- nothing knew to Preston, but here it was in much vaster quantities, coupled with darts and pool and dancing- which helped numb worries and cut the throat of inhibitions. There were the academic achievements- the awards! The libraries! The prestige!- which helped swell his ego. There were the friends- so many, so varied- which helped him move in a new direction, and the women. Women were nothing new to Preston either (he had even shown Nigel how to win the attractive ladies, much to Nigel's anger) but the women at university had an interest in learning, and were generally freer with their favours. Yes, he enjoyed uni.

Despite the pain he'd been through, Preston was an optimistic young man. He lived in the moment, and as far as he was concerned he had every right to be optimistic: he had a beautiful house, a large inheritance, many achievements, and plenty of great opportunities spread out before him.

He was not the kind of man to worry about what was going to happen, or even to ponder how things might change in the next few years. The future for Preston extended as far as graduating. Surprisingly he had retained no fear of loss and commitment; he was still mortified by being out-done by others. He was not the most logical of people but he did not let it stand in the way of what he wanted. He never let anything stop him from getting what he wanted, even little Nigel.

Family was not a word Preston used very much by the time he was leaving his teenage years. At some point, probably when he'd sent Nigel away, he'd fired the Cook – not from any mistake, but just because he did not want her around any more. There really was only him and his little brother now, and they'd drifted so far apart, Preston barely thought of him.

A girlfriend had once told Preston that he only saw what he wanted to see and that he was consumed with how much he _got_, not what he _had_. He hadn't understood her words and she had stormed out, shouting at him to his further bewilderment. Shaking his head at her folly, he'd discarded her words, just like he discarded every thing that held little interest to him.

Preston never thought about flying. He never dreamt about being something other than he was. So long as he was the best- so long as Nigel didn't out-do him- he didn't mind anything else.

But Preston Bailey was not a _cruel_ man. He was determined, yes, and wholly grounded, but he was still kind and generous. Women found him witty and charming, and he was willing to take them out on extravagant evenings and weekend trips. When he liked someone, Preston would do an awful lot for them.

The one person he didn't like but still _believed_ he did a lot for was Nigel. Off went Nigel to an expensive, highly acclaimed boarding school, wanting for nothing – so Preston believed. There was still a significant lack of fondness between the boys, but Preston knew as the head of the household it was his duty to make sure those below him got the best of what they needed.

Preston never believed he stole things from his brother. He never thought his brother might be unhappy and hurting. He certainly never foresaw his brother moving half-way around the world. If he had, he might have altered his behaviour.

But as a twenty year old university student, Preston was set in his ways. The most important target was to enjoy his life, and he made sure he could do that at every turn. Ambitious, but slightly lazy, and rather care-free nowadays, he never made himself face the evils he hid. His parents' death had hugely influenced him, and he barely considered Nigel a brother anymore (he assured himself it wasn't _his_ fault), but by twenty he had managed to move on with his life.

He really was a man now.

---


End file.
